


no more pretending

by OnyxSphinx



Series: newmann one-shots [127]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF, Yearning, fuck pru they're in love and happy, hermann's kinda repressed huh, hermann's too tired to pretend he doesn't care anymore, post-pacrim, soft, v soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:14:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21926542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphinx/pseuds/OnyxSphinx
Summary: He can feel Newton’s smile even if he can’t see it, can hear the unspokenoh, how scandalous, Dr. Gottliebthat would usually follow; but not tonight, not tonight; because, perhaps, tonight is a night where they don’t fall back into old routines; don’t leave the unspoken something between them unspoken any longer.God, Hermann hopes it is. He’s tired and happy and he doesn’t particularlywantto pretend that the other is nothing more than a labmate to him.
Relationships: Hermann Gottlieb vs. Lars Gottlieb, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Series: newmann one-shots [127]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1286762
Comments: 2
Kudos: 81





	no more pretending

**Author's Note:**

> anon asked: "Prompt: “He’s not a mid-life crisis, Father,” he says tiredly. 
> 
> "“Well, what is he?” 
> 
> "Hermann doesn’t know how to answer him. There isn’t any good word to define what they are to each other. He’s the love of his life."

After the war, it seems an inevitability; they’ve been building up to this, really, for ages, neither willing to acknowledge the growing _thing_ that's between them; always pretending that whatever they had died the day they met, because neither of them know how to deal with the fact that it _didn’t;_ that, if anything, they care for each other now more deeply than they did.

And now they’ve Drifted; literally linked their brains together and Newt had said to him _you would do that for me—?_ and then caught himself and said, instead, _or—or with me?_ and Hermann had brushed it off with a witty retort but the truth is—

 _Yes._ Yes, yes, he would. Yes, he did. He would do it again.

And after the Drift, after the Breach closed, and everyone is celebrating, Newton pulls him into a hug; elation and relief and something else, too; gentleness in his touch.

“I could sleep for a year,” Hermann mutters, for once allowing hyperbole, and he doesn’t expect any response, really; but he’s leaning against Newton in a position that is frighteningly intimate given everything, so he should have expected it.

Newton gives a huff. “Me too, Herms,” he says, “wanna crash in my room?”

“What’s wrong with _my_ room?” Hermann retorts, but it’s not a _no_ and they both know it.

“It looks like no one lives in it,” Newton says bluntly. “It’s creepy. I can’t sleep in there.” And his arm tightens a bit and Hermann doesn’t protest the way it pulls the two of them closer together because he _wants_ this so startlingly much; the longing prickling beneath his skin. “Plus, I have warm blankets.”

“Oh, alright,” Hermann says, and the grudging tone that it would usually contain is absent and he doesn’t think that it’s particularly a bad thing. “Lead me to your quarters, then, Newton.”

He can feel Newton’s smile even if he can’t see it, can hear the unspoken _oh, how scandalous, Dr. Gottlieb_ that would usually follow; but not tonight, not tonight; because, perhaps, tonight is a night where they don’t fall back into old routines; don’t leave the unspoken something between them unspoken any longer.

God, Hermann hopes it is. He’s tired and happy and he doesn’t particularly _want_ to pretend that the other is nothing more than a labmate to him.

“Herms?”

Hermann blinks. They’re in front of the door; or, rather, the doorway. Newton’s unlocked the door, but he’s still holding onto Hermann; still letting him lean on him. Oh; they’re here already. 

“I—er—yes,” he stammers, “sorry, I was lost in my thoughts.”

Newton smiles at him; soft and understanding. “’s alright. C’mon, let’s get you to bed, dude.”

“Probably a good idea, yes,” Hermann agrees; readjusts his grip on his cane and shifts a bit so that he can more comfortably lean against the other as they go over the threshold.

Once they’re inside, Newton leads him to the bed, and Hermann sets his cane against the back of the chair Newton puts by the bed; sits on the edge and waits as the other digs through his drawers. “Well,” Newton says, after a moment, and presents two graphic-tees, “you get to choose between Darth Vader and Pride.”

“…either one is fine,” Hermann says, after a moment, and Newton beams at him.

“Great!” he says, and tosses the shirt with rainbow lions on it at him. “I have a pair of sweatpants if you want.”

Hermann considers refusing; considers handing the shirt back and stammering some excuse; any other day, he’d flee, mortified, back to his own quarters, but tonight…no. Not tonight. He shrugs off his blazer; pulls off his sweater, and unbuttons his shirt; folds each item and sets them on the chair before pulling on the shirt; trades his own slacks out for the pair Newton offers him a few moments later.

“Alright, scoot,” Newton says, “I gotta get under the covers too, man, you can’t leave me out in the cold. It’s my bed.”

“I can if I want to,” Hermann says, but obliges; lets Newton pull the covers back and herd him beneath them, joining a moment later. 

“Sh—keep your fingers off of me!” Newton yelps, “you’re _freezing!_ ”

“And _you’re_ irrationally _hot,_ ” Hermann retorts sleepily, peering through half-cracked eyes.

“I—shut up and go to sleep,” Newton splutters, but he shifts closer; takes Hermann’s frigid hands is his own warm ones. 

* * *

Hermann wakes slowly. He’s warm, and though the aches are still there, they’re dulled. Newton’s arms are around him, comforting, and he lets the memories of the previous night—day?—play through his mind. 

Finally, he opens his eyes.

“Morning, sunshine,” Newton says softly, “how are you feeling?”

“…slightly disturbed by the thought that you’ve spent who knows how long watching me sleep,” he replies.

Newton scoffs. “It’s not _creepy,_ ” he protests. “You just looked so… _comfortable,_ I guess. At peace. I didn’t want to end that.”

 _Oh._ Hermann blinks. “That’s…very thoughtful of you,” he says, finally.

The biologist shrugs. “I figure I spend enough time ruining things for you,” he says, and it’s meant to be a joke, but there’s too much truth in it for that.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Hermann says, “we both know it’s mutual.”

Newton laughs. “Weird way to comfort me,” he says, but the heaviness has lifted a bit from his eyes. 

“I’ve been told I’m a bit weird,” Hermann says.

“Mmyeah. Weirdly attractive,” Newton says, and smiles as Hermann’s cheeks heat up. “If you get to call me _hot_ I get to call you pretty,” he says. 

“ _Pretty,_ ” Hermann huffs; mock-offended, but there’s a quiet happiness to this.

“ _Very_ pretty,” Newton amends.

“Shut up before I kiss you,” Hermann threatens, and the other’s grin widens.

“Bold of you to assume you’re not falling into my insidious trap,” he teases.

“Bold of you to assume I don’t _want_ to,” Hermann counters.

“Oh shut up and kiss me,” Newton says.

Hermann does; softly, and pulls away for a moment; smiles at Newton’s own smile, and then smiles wider when Newton kisses him.

* * *

The next few weeks are spent dealing with press and trying to clear out the lab; despite not getting nearly the amount of press attention as others in the Shatterdome, there’s always a few reporters and photographers trailing after them when they have to leave the Shatterdome, and that’s not even mentioning the interviews the PPDC higher-ups insist they must attend.

Hermann feels bad for Ranger Beckett and Mako; they’re the centre of the media’s attention.

Of course, inevitably, his father calls.

It’s while he’s going through his papers in the lab; trying to get rid of anything out of date and transfer the remaining information to digital when the notification pops up on his screen of an incoming video-call.

 _Accept?_ the screen prompts, and Hermann takes a look at the caller-ID; sighs and accepts it.

“Father,” he greets stiffly, “how… _nice_ to see you.”

“Hermann,” Lars says; face pinched like he’s eating a lemon. 

“Come to sulk and blame me for the media finally realising what a farce the Wall was?” Hermann asks. If possible, the other’s face sours even more. “I was _right,_ you know,” he can’t resist adding, “Newton and I were both right.”

“ _Newton,_ ” Lars spits, like the very name offends him. “I cannot _believe_ you still associate with that—that _joke_ of a man.”

“ _Father,_ ” Hermann warns, “that _joke of a man_ is my _friend,_ so _watch your tongue._ ”

“ _Friend,_ ” he scoffs, “do not be _ridiculous,_ Hermann; I’ve read the interviews. That man’s not fit to be a part of your—your midlife crisis.”

“He’s not a mid-life crisis, Father,” he says tiredly. 

“Well, what is he?” 

Hermann doesn’t know how to answer him. There isn’t any good word to define what they are to each other. He’s the love of his life.

Instead he says, “I don’t answer to you. If you want to be rude and ungrateful to the man who’s responsible for your continued existence and the closure of the Breach, then I am going to hang up on you. Goodbye, Lars. Don’t call me again.”

He ends the call. The screen goes dark, and he lets out a heavy sigh, shoulders slumping.

There’s the sound of footsteps; and then a cup set down in front of him.

“I’m sorry, man,” Newton says, softly, squeezing his shoulder. “Your father’s an asshole.”

“It’s alright,” Hermann sighs, “I’m not even—it’s just…tiring, I suppose.”

“Well, I made you tea,” Newton says, gesturing to the cup, “hopefully that helps a bit.”

“Thank you, Newton,” Hermann says, and smiles tentatively; picks up the cup. “I…” he trails off. _I love you,_ he means, but the words seem to get stuck in his throat.

Newton squeezes his shoulder again. “It’s okay,” he says, “take your time. We’ve got the rest of our lives.”

“We have, haven’t we,” Hermann murmurs, and the thought fills him with warmth.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at [autisticharrow](https://autisticharrow.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


End file.
